The birth of Jesus has been well chronicled, as have his glorious teachings, acts, and divine sacrifice after his 30th birthday. But no one knows about the early life of the Son of God, the missing years - except Biff, the Messiah's best bud, who has been resurrected to tell the story in this divinely hilarious yet heartfelt work, "reminiscent of Vonnegut and Douglas Adams" (Philadelphia Inquirer).
Verily, the story Biff has to tell is a miraculous one, filled with remarkable journeys, magic, healings, kung fu, corpse reanimations, demons, and hot babes. Even the considerable wiles and devotion of the Savior's pal may not be enough to divert Joshua from his tragic destiny. But there's no one who loves Josh more (except maybe "Maggie," Mary of Magdalan) and Biff isn't about to let his extraordinary pal suffer and ascend without a fight.
You think you know how this story is going to end, but you don't. Trust
me, I was there. I know.
The first time I saw the man who would save the world he was sitting
near the central well in Nazareth with a lizard hanging out of his
mouth. Just the tail end and the hind legs were visible on the outside;
the head and forelegs were halfway down the hatch. He was six, like me,
and his beard had not come in fully, so he didn't look much like the
pictures you've seen of him. His eyes were like dark honey, and they
smiled at me out of a mop of blue-black curls that framed his face.
There was a light older than Moses in those eyes.
"Unclean! Unclean!" I screamed, pointing at the boy, so my mother would
see that I knew the law, but she ignored me, as did all the other
mothers who were filling their jars at the well.
The boy took the lizard from his mouth and handed it to his younger
brother, who sat beside him in the sand. The younger boy played with the
lizard for a while, teasing it until it reared its little head as if to
bite, then he picked up a rock and mashed the creature's head.
Bewildered, he pushed the dead lizard around in the sand, and once
assured that it wasn't going anywhere on its own, he picked it up and
handed it back to his older brother.
Into his mouth went the lizard, and before I could accuse, out it came
again, squirming and alive and ready to bite once again. He handed it
back to his younger brother, who smote it mightily with the rock,
starting or ending the whole process again.
I watched the lizard die three more times before I said, "I want to do
The Savior removed the lizard from his mouth and said, "Which part?"
by the way, his name was Joshua. Jesus is the Greek translation of the
Hebrew Yeshua, which is Joshua. Christ is not a last name. It's
the Greek for messiah, a Hebrew word meaning anointed. I have no idea
what the "H" in Jesus H. Christ stood for. It's one of the things I
should have asked him. Me? I am Levi who is called Biff. No middle
initial. Joshua was my best friend.
The angel says I'm supposed to just sit down and write my story, forget
about what I've seen in this world, but how am I to do that? In the last
three days I have seen more people, more images, more wonders, than in
all my thirty-three years of living, and the angel asks me to ignore
them. Yes, I have been given the gift of tongues, so I see nothing
without knowing the word for it, but what good does that do? Did it help
in Jerusalem to know that it was a Mercedes that terrified me and sent
me diving into a Dumpster? Moreover, after Raziel pulled me out and
ripped my fingernails back as I struggled to stay hidden, did it help to
know that it was a Boeing 747 that made me cower in a ball trying to
rock away my own tears and shut out the noise and fire? Am I a little
child, afraid of its own shadow, or did I spend twenty-seven years at
the side of the Son of God?
On the hill where he pulled me from the dust, the angel said, "You will
see many strange things. Do not be afraid. You have a holy mission and I
will protect you."
Smug bastard. Had I known what he would do to me I would have hit him
again. Even now he lies on the bed across the room, watching pictures
move on a screen, eating the sticky sweet called Snickers, while I
scratch out my tale on this soft-as-silk paper that reads Hyatt
Regency, Regency St. Louis at the top. Words, words, words, a
million million words circle in my head like hawks, waiting to dive onto
the page to rend and tear the only two words I want to write.
There were fifteen of us - well, fourteen after I hung Judas - so why
me? Joshua always told me not to be afraid, for he would always be with
me. Where are you, my friend? Why have you forsaken me? You wouldn't be
afraid here. The towers and machines and the shine and stink of this
world would not daunt you. Come now, I'll order a pizza from room
service. You would like pizza. The servant who brings it is named Jesus.
And he's not even a Jew. You always liked irony. Come, Joshua, the angel
says you are yet with us, you can hold him down while I pound him, then
we will rejoice in pizza.
Raziel has been looking at my writing and is insisting that I stop
whining and get on with the story. Easy for him to say, he didn't just
spend the last two thousand years buried in the dirt. Nevertheless, he
won't let me order pizza until I finish a section, so here goes ...
I was born in Galilee, the town of Nazareth, in the time of Herod the
Great. My father, Alphaeus, was a stonemason and my mother, Naomi, was
plagued by demons, or at least that's what I told everyone. Joshua
seemed to think she was just difficult. My proper name, Levi, comes from
the brother of Moses, the progenitor of the tribe of priests; my
nickname, Biff, comes from our slang word for a smack upside the head,
something that my mother said I required at least daily from an early
I grew up under Roman rule, although I didn't see many Romans until I
Excerpted from "Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal" by Christopher Moore. Copyright © 2003 by Christopher Moore. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.